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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970856">comeback kid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1'>novoaa1</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Established Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss, Families of Choice, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury Recovery, Kidnapped Reader, Kidnapping, Mild Blood, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, Parent Emily Prentiss, Parent Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Reader is a Child, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Recovery, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Soft Emily Prentiss, Violence, aftermath of kidnapping, reader going through the stages of puberty / becoming a woman, reader is female</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:35:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You bite your lower lip nervously. “Are you and Miss JJ… friends?”</p><p>Emily’s lips twitch. “You could say that.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“We live together.”</p><p>“Oh. That’s cool,” you say, tapping your knees. They’re a mottled combination of purple and black and blue. “Miss JJ is really pretty.”</p><p>Emily smiles. “Yes, she certainly is.”</p><p>“You smile when you talk about Miss JJ,” you observe, watching Emily carefully. You can’t quite figure her out. “You don’t seem like a very smile-y person.”</p><p>Or: Reader is a young girl who has finally escaped captivity at the hands of a bad man with the BAU's help. She meets Emily and JJ. Spencer, too, along with the others. Somewhere along the way, she learns a little something about trust and healing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner &amp; Reader, Derek Morgan &amp; Reader, Emily Prentiss &amp; Reader, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau &amp; Emily Prentiss &amp; Reader, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau &amp; Reader, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid &amp; Reader, The BAU Team &amp; Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>comeback kid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>okay this was already getting too long and i was spending too much time and i have finals bitch like there's no time!</p><p>so in this verse, jj never married will and therefore never had henry or michael... here, she's in an established relationship with emily</p><p>also dude : ***heed the freaking warnings okay. read the tags before you proceed because i'll be the first to say the first half is a little brutal ***<br/> </p><p>n e ways i wrote this because.... uh. i don't know actually, though i'll be the first to say that a healthy amount of it is just pure self-projection </p><p>lol jokes laughs funny. also the title is stupid i know but for some reason it was sticking with me,,,, might change it later though</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>“I’m sorry there is so much pain in this story. I’m sorry it’s in fragments, like a body caught in crossfire or pulled apart by force. But there is nothing I can do to change it.</b>
</p><p><b>I’ve tried to put some of the good things in as well. Flowers, for instance, because where would we be without them?”</b><br/>— <b>Margaret Atwood</b></p><p> </p><p>	Your daddy dies on a Tuesday. The bad man forces him down onto his knees, shoots him in the chest with a real-life, actual <em>gun</em>. <b><em>BANG</em></b>. It’s so loud. Way louder than it is in the movies. </p><p> </p><p>	He turns to you next. Tells you to watch as he takes Momma’s clothes off, throws her onto the bed. He starts touching her like Daddy sometimes did, except she doesn’t smile and laugh like she does with Daddy. She screams and cries like it hurts, like the bad man is making it hurt. It goes on for a long time. </p><p> </p><p>	Eventually, he takes out a knife, puts it in Momma’s stomach. Once, twice, three times. She cries a little louder, starts to breathe a little funny. Soon enough, she goes completely quiet.</p><p> </p><p>Then the bad man turns to you with a big, toothy smile. You don’t like to think about what happens after that. </p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>	Time passes, and the bad man gets a name—Sir. You think it’s sorta a funny name (not truly a name at all, really), but you don’t ask him about it. He gives you a name, too—Princess. You don’t ask about that either. Your questions only ever seem to make him mad, and he gets really mean when he’s mad. </p><p> </p><p>	Sir gives you a bedroom down in the basement of his house. He tells you it’s your home now, but it doesn’t feel warm and safe like home should. </p><p> </p><p>	You get used to it, though. Eventually. </p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>	You start to grow. It’s slow, at first, but once it starts it doesn’t stop, and you have no idea how to feel about it. </p><p> </p><p>	Your chest starts to get a little bigger. It isn’t flat like Sir’s anymore, and that makes you worry about what he’ll think. Instead of getting mad, though, he actually seems to approve. You don’t know why or what it means, but it’s a relief all the same. </p><p> </p><p>	One morning, you wake up with a tummy ache and blood staining the bedsheets between your legs. You kind of freak out about it, but Sir just smiles and says that it’s a good thing, that it means you’re a woman now. That same night, he spreads your legs and takes out his <em>thing</em>. It hurts when he forces it inside you, but you know better than to fight. He says it’s called “making love,” that it’s what two people do when they really care about each other. </p><p> </p><p>	You wonder why it’s called “making love” if it hurts so much, but you don’t ask him that. </p><p> </p><p>	After that night, Sir starts letting you stay in his room. You were never allowed before. At nighttime he puts his thing inside you and makes love, but you don’t mind. His bedsheets are so much softer than yours, and his pillows are so fluffy. You sleep a lot better most nights, even if your private parts feel ache-y and sore more often than not. </p><p> </p><p>	Sir isn’t angry with you as often as he used to be, but he’s still super strict and punishes you for almost everything. He says it has to be done, that you’ve gotta learn your place. He says it hurts him just as much as it hurts you to do it. You don’t know if you believe him. His thing always grows in his pants when he hits you, which you’ve learned to mean that he’s excited. Sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of punishing you to drag you upstairs and make love. </p><p> </p><p>	It’s okay, though. You’re kind of used to it now. </p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>	More time passes, and you get a sister. </p><p> </p><p>	She’s smaller than you are, and when you ask her if she’s bled yet, she just looks back up at you all confused. </p><p> </p><p>	Sir says her name is Sissy. Sissy frowns and says, “No, my name is Bella.” Sir slaps Sissy until she screams and cries and her nose starts bleeding. By the end of it, she’s calling herself Sissy, too. </p><p> </p><p>	Eventually, Sissy’s body starts to go through changes, too, just like yours did. Her chest gets a little bigger. One day she falls to her knees, whimpering and clutching her tummy, and when you check her panties, they’re red with blood. </p><p> </p><p>	Sir starts making love to her, too. Sometimes he invites his friends over. They make love to you and Sissy, too. </p><p> </p><p>	Other times, he makes you and Sissy kiss on the mouth and touch each other’s private parts. You don’t understand why, ‘cause you thought sisters weren’t supposed to do things like that, but you know better than to question it. </p><p> </p><p>	You actually like having a sister, you find. She’s warm and soft and you get to hold each other when things are bad. Since Sissy is old enough to do grown-up things now, Sir gives you and Sissy your own room and a bed to share. </p><p> </p><p>	He still makes love to you most nights, and forces the two of you to play grown-up games together in his bed. But you try your best to be good, and teach Sissy how to be good, too. Sometimes, the two of you can manage to go hours on end without making him upset.</p><p> </p><p>	When he hugs the two of you against his bare chest late at night, squeezing you tight and saying how much he loves his two beautiful little girls, it doesn’t make your skin crawl like it used to. It actually doesn’t bother you at all. </p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>The angry-looking people with guns and vests come barging in late at night when you and Sissy are with Sir in his bed playing grown-up games. Sir grabs a knife, stabs it right into Sissy’s tummy. You’ve never heard her scream so loud.  </p><p> </p><p>The pretty man with dark, chocolate-y skin barges into the room, yanks Sir off the bed and pins him down on the floor. Sissy is whimpering and bleeding from her gut, Sir is thrashing and yelling on the floor. A handsome man with dark curly hair yanks you off the bed, drags you outside. You keep hitting your fists against his big, burly chest; wriggling and flailing in his strong arms; begging him to take you back in and get Sissy, too. He doesn’t. </p><p> </p><p>	The next bit is kind of a blur. </p><p> </p><p>	Someone drapes a coat around your shoulders. A lady with a buzzcut sits you up on the back of the ambulance and dabs wet cotton balls all over the cuts on your face. It stings. </p><p> </p><p>	She says you’re gonna be okay, so long as you go to a hospital later.  </p><p> </p><p>They take you back to the police station. You’ve never been in one of those before.</p><p> </p><p>Sissy’s blood is drying on your hands when the big, burly man with brown eyes leads you into a room right next to the captain’s office. It’s got a table and cushion-y chairs. He leaves you there with a tight smile and an apology, but not before telling you that there’ll be someone in to talk to you soon. </p><p> </p><p>You’re wearing a big blue jacket that says FBI on the back, a pair of panties and nothing else. It’s a little cold, but otherwise you don’t mind. </p><p> </p><p>You clamber up onto one of the chairs, tuck your bruised knees against your chest. </p><p> </p><p>You don’t have to wait for very long until someone opens the door and comes inside. She’s really pretty—tall and thin with long golden hair and big blue eyes. You think she kind of looks like a Disney princess. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi, there,” she says. You watch her carefully as she takes a seat at the table right across from you. “My name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you a police officer?” you ask. </p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m with the FBI.” Her voice is soft and gentle, like silk. </p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that the same thing?”</p><p> </p><p>She chuckles, like you’ve said something funny. “Kind of.”</p><p> </p><p>You nod, staring down at the tabletop. “Cool.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you tell me your name, sweetie?”</p><p> </p><p>“Princess.” </p><p> </p><p>“‘Princess,’” she repeats, eyebrows raised. “That’s a cute name.”</p><p> </p><p>You look up. You can’t figure out if she really means that. “Thanks. Sir gave it to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah.” JJ’s eyebrows creep a little higher.  “And do you <em>like</em> being called ‘Princess’?” </p><p> </p><p>You frown. “I guess so.” You don’t really understand what she’s asking. “It’s my name.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” JJ nods. “And how old are you, Princess?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… I don’t know,” you admit. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright,” JJ says. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”</p><p> </p><p>You start fidgeting with your hands, concern for Sissy still fresh on your mind. “Is Sissy okay?”</p><p> </p><p>JJ looks confused. “‘Sissy’?”</p><p> </p><p>“My sister,” you tell her. “Is she okay? She was bleeding.”</p><p> </p><p>JJ pauses, a wrinkle forming between her brows. You get a sinking feeling in your gut. “Princess, your sister was hurt very badly,” she explains, looking at you with sad eyes. “The doctors said there was nothing they could do. I’m so, <em>so</em> sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Your eyes start to burn like they do when you’re about to start crying. “She’s… She’s dead?”</p><p> </p><p>JJ nods slowly. The sad expression doesn’t leave her face. “Yes, Princess. Again, I’m… <em>so</em>, so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Your body feels numb. There’s a humming in your ears you can’t quite place. Your sight grows hazy around the edges. </p><p> </p><p>“Princess?” JJ’s voice sounds far-away, distant. </p><p> </p><p>A hot tear traces down your cheek. It helps to anchor you in the moment, sort of. “Sir is a bad man, isn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” JJ says after a moment. “Yes, he is.”</p><p> </p><p>You tuck your knees a little tighter to your chest. Your bad arm aches, but you ignore it. “I don’t wanna be called ‘Princess’ anymore,” you whisper. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright. What would you like to be called instead?”</p><p> </p><p>You sniffle as another warm tear traces your cheek. “I… I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out right now.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re really nice, Miss JJ.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just ‘JJ’ is fine.” She takes out a notepad and pen, sets it in front of her on the table. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”</p><p> </p><p>You nod. You still feel numb. “He came into my house one night. He was scary.”</p><p> </p><p>“He hurt your parents, didn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>You gulp down a whimper. “Y-Yea. He had a gun and a knife.”</p><p> </p><p>“What did he do with them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shot Daddy right here.” You shift in your seat, pointing at your chest with your good arm—right around where you think your heart should be. “Put Mommy on the bed, and… made love.”</p><p> </p><p>JJ frowns. “‘Made love’?”</p><p> </p><p>You nod, looking at her curiously. Weren’t grown-ups supposed to know all about making love? “Yea. The thing that grown-ups do with each other.”</p><p> </p><p>JJ just stares.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, when they take off their clothes and touch each other’s private parts.”</p><p> </p><p>Something in JJ’s eyes shifts. “Honey… ” she begins. She sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Did Sir teach you about that?”</p><p> </p><p>You nod again. “Yea, he showed me how once I became a woman.”</p><p> </p><p>JJ’s eyes widen. “Once you ‘became a woman’?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Why does she keep repeating everything I’m saying?</em> “When I started bleeding down… there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your period?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Huh?</em> “What’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s something that happens every month to girls like you and me.”</p><p> </p><p>You lean forward a little bit in your seat, peering intently at her over your knees. “It happens to you, too?”</p><p> </p><p>JJ’s lips curve into a little smile, like she’s amused by your question. Her eyes still look kinda sad, though. “Yes, sweetie, they happen to me, too. I have one every month.”</p><p> </p><p>“A period.” It sounds kinda funny coming off your tongue. “Do you get tummy aches when they happen, too?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes. I take painkillers for the first couple days so that it doesn’t hurt as much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why… Why doesn’t it happen to boys?” </p><p> </p><p>“Because girl parts and boy parts are different.”</p><p> </p><p>You nod. That makes sense. After all, whenever Sir pulled out his <em>thing</em>, it was so strange-looking. It didn’t look anything like what you had between your legs.  </p><p> </p><p>“Boy parts are weird,” you say eventually, wrinkling your nose. </p><p> </p><p>JJ laughs. She has a pretty laugh. “Yes, they certainly are.”</p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>JJ leaves eventually, says she’ll bring you food when she comes back. Your stomach growls. You don’t know how you can be hungry at a time like this, but somehow, you are. </p><p> </p><p>Another woman takes JJ’s place. </p><p> </p><p>She’s beautiful, too, in a different way. Black hair, bangs, dark eyes. Her smile is white and dazzling. She’s tall and thin like JJ, but the sweater she’s wearing looks soft while JJ’s shirt was crisp and business-y. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi, there,” she says as she takes JJ’s seat across from you. She places a brown folder on the table in front of her. “I’m Emily.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you FBI? Like Miss JJ?” When you mention JJ’s name, her smile seems to get wider. You wonder if you’re just imagining things. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, in fact, I am,” she replies. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you gonna put me in jail?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily raises one eyebrow. “No, honey, I’m not going to put you in jail.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about Sir?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily sighs. “He’s in another room right now. One of our agents is talking to him.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s gonna go to jail, isn’t he?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily nods. “Yes. For a very long time.” Straightforward and honest. You like that about her, you decide. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”</p><p> </p><p>You frown, hesitating. “Sir called me ‘Princess.’”</p><p> </p><p>“So, should I call you that as well?”</p><p> </p><p>Instantly, you shake your head. “No, thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about the name you had before Sir took you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… I can’t remember.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s okay.” Emily opens the file, flips it around and slides it across the table over to you. “One of our people, Garcia, found you.”</p><p> </p><p>Hesitantly, you reach out to trace the paper on top. There’s a smaller picture paper-clipped to the front of it. It’s… It’s <em>you</em>. “Name: Y/N Y/L/N,” you read off the page. “That’s… That’s me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, honey,” Emily agrees. Her voice is soft like JJ’s, but different. Deeper. You like it, you decide. “That’s you.”</p><p> </p><p>Your head spins. You look up at her, searching her pale features for an answer. “Miss Emily, h-how old am I?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re 14.”</p><p> </p><p>“And my parents… They’re gone, aren’t they?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily nods. There’s sadness in her eyes, too. It’s different from JJ’s, but not by much. “I’m afraid they are.”</p><p> </p><p>You bite your lower lip nervously. You really don’t want to think about that right now. “Are you and Miss JJ… friends?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily’s lips twitch. “You could say that.”</p><p> </p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“We live together.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. That’s cool,” you say, tapping your knees. They’re a mottled combination of purple and black and blue. “Miss JJ is really pretty.”</p><p> </p><p>Emily smiles. “Yes, she certainly is.”</p><p> </p><p>“You smile when you talk about Miss JJ,” you observe, watching Emily carefully. You can’t quite figure her out. “You don’t seem like a very smile-y person.”</p><p> </p><p>Emily looks a little taken aback at your remark, but she recovers quickly. “Well, JJ and I are very close.”</p><p> </p><p>You hum, resting your chin on your knees and giving her your full attention. “Sir says I’m a woman now. Is that true?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily huffs out a laugh. “No, sweetie, not quite. You’re a teenager.”</p><p> </p><p>You tilt your head curiously. “But I did the period.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that now?”</p><p> </p><p>“The period. Miss JJ says that that’s what it’s called when you bleed from… <em>down there</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I see what you mean now,” Emily says. “But you don’t ‘do’ periods. You <em>have</em> them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“And, either way, having a period doesn’t automatically make you a woman, Y/N.”</p><p> </p><p>You squint over at her. Now you’re even <em>more</em> confused. “It doesn’t?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope. I had my first period when I was around 12 years old, but I didn’t grow up until much, much later.”</p><p> </p><p>You nod at that, like you understand. (You don’t really.) “How much later?”</p><p> </p><p>“According to the law, everyone’s an adult at 18. But honestly, I don’t think I really became a grown-up until I was 25, at least.”</p><p> </p><p>“Woah,” you murmur. “That’s a lot of years.”</p><p> </p><p>Emily chuckles again. You find that you’re beginning to like the sound of it. “I used to think that, too.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s quiet for a little bit. “Miss Emily?” you ask eventually. “Why am I still here?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not quite finished with Sir yet,” she tells you. </p><p> </p><p>“But you caught him.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s true,” Emily agrees. “But we need him to tell us where to find some other people, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why? Did Sir do something to them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. He did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sir gets angry sometimes,” you say. You don’t quite know what point you’re trying to make, but you feel like you should say it all the same. “He loses control.”</p><p> </p><p>“Everyone gets angry sometimes. Everyone loses control.” Emily leans back in her seat. Her eyes don’t leave you. “That still doesn’t make it okay to hurt people.”</p><p> </p><p>You agree with Emily on that, you think. Even if Sir doesn’t. “Miss Emily?”</p><p> </p><p>“You can just call me ‘Emily.’”</p><p> </p><p>“Emily,” you correct yourself. It feels wrong coming off your tongue. You don’t think you’ll be doing that again any time soon. “You know about making love, right? The thing that grown-ups do in bed?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily opens her mouth but nothing comes out, like she doesn’t quite know what to say. You think she looks kind of silly like that. After a long moment, she says, “I… Well, yes, I suppose I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why does it hurt so much? Sir says… that it’s supposed to hurt when you make love. He says that sometimes we have to hurt the people we care about. Is that true?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily’s face falls. All of a sudden, her eyes are sad again, and the way she’s looking at you… like she’s sad <em>for</em> you. </p><p> </p><p>When she finally answers, her voice is small—smaller than you’ve heard it be since she came in and started talking to you. “He’s wrong, Y/N,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“But then why is his <em>thing</em> so big?” you ask, completely bewildered. “How could anyone ever fit it in without getting hurt?”</p><p> </p><p>If anything, Emily’s face gets even sadder at that. “He’s a grown-up. He’s much bigger than you are.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I can do grown-up things. I had a period,” you point out. </p><p> </p><p>“Sweetie, that’s not how it works.” Emily’s hands clasp tightly together on the tabletop until her knuckles turn white. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t be doing things like that with grown-ups, and it isn’t fair that he forced you to.” </p><p> </p><p>You frown. That doesn’t sound totally right, but you don’t know enough to say one way or the other. “Do I belong to him now? ‘Cause we did grown-up things together?” you ask. As soon as the words leave your lips, you realize how badly you’ve been wanting to know the answer.</p><p> </p><p>You can see Emily’s jaw get tight. “Is that what he told you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yea,” you admit. Your tummy churns as you watch Emily’s clenched hands start to shake. “Um… Are you angry with me, Miss Emily?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily blinks, looking down at her hands and then back to you. “No, honey. No, of course not.” She takes her hands back, puts them in her lap. “I’m sorry. I’m angry with <em>him</em> for doing these things to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Your frown deepens at the defeated look on Emily’s face. “It’s okay,” you assure her. You don’t want her to be sad. “It wasn’t too bad. I learned what he liked pretty quick, and that made it easier.”</p><p> </p><p>Emily begins to look a little sick. </p><p> </p><p>“Miss Emily, are you alright?” you ask. </p><p> </p><p>Emily clears her throat. The green complexion fades, but she still looks wary. “Yes, sweetie, I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s lying. You don’t know why, but she is. Still, you won’t ask about it. You’re smarter than that. “Is Miss JJ coming back soon?” </p><p> </p><p>Emily glances down at her watch. She wears it on the inside of her wrist, you remember. “Yeah, I think—”</p><p> </p><p>A sudden knock at the door interrupts Emily mid-sentence, making you flinch. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah.” Emily’s eyes shift to look at something over your shoulder. She smiles. “Ask and ye shall receive.”</p><p> </p><p>You chance a look behind you. </p><p> </p><p>	There Miss JJ is, holding a brown paper bag and a can of Sprite. When you meet her eye, she gives you a warm smile and a wink. You immediately turn back around, your cheeks feeling hot. </p><p> </p><p>	“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a handful of things for you to choose from,” JJ explains. She drops the paper bag and soda right next to the open file in front of you, then circles around to the other side of the table. It smells like grease and fast food and ketchup. Your tummy rumbles again. “There’s a cheeseburger, some chicken nuggets, and a grilled chicken sandwich. I got you some fries, too.”</p><p> </p><p>JJ gently touches Emily’s shoulder, and the two of them share some sort of silent communication. Then she sits down, too. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Miss JJ,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to touch the food. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome, honey.”</p><p> </p><p>The room goes quiet. You steal glances at the food, then over at JJ and Emily. They’re watching you with identical frowns. Occasionally, they turn to exchange concerned looks with each other. In the meantime, you continue your staring match with the purple skin of your kneecaps. </p><p> </p><p>“Not hungry?” Emily asks after a little while. </p><p> </p><p>You glance up at her. “Is this a test?”</p><p> </p><p>JJ and Emily exchange another look. “‘A test’?” JJ repeats. Her voice is just as soft and silky as you remember it. “What do you mean by that, honey?”</p><p> </p><p>If it <em>is</em> a test, it’s already way more elaborate than anything Sir ever did. Still, you can’t help falling back on old habits. </p><p> </p><p>“Food is earned, not given,” you recite. The words come out easy—like second nature. At this point, they kind of are. </p><p> </p><p>It’s quiet again, until—</p><p> </p><p>“Y/N… Did Sir tell you that?” Emily’s dark eyes on you are steady, like if she looks at you for long enough, she’ll figure out all your secrets. You pray that that isn’t true. </p><p> </p><p>Reluctantly, you nod. You look back and forth between them, searching. “What do you want for this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing,” Emily says simply. </p><p> </p><p>You just raise your eyebrows. You’ve played this game before. “A favor, then?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily shakes her head. “No favors necessary.”</p><p> </p><p>“I brought you food because you’re hungry and you need to eat,” JJ adds. She’s looking at you with a pained expression. “That’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, you reach for the Sprite. You don’t take your eyes off JJ and Emily. The can is cold and wet, dripping down the sides. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh!” Emily abruptly stands, leaning forward over the table and reaching out. “Here, I’ll open it for y—”</p><p> </p><p>She stops herself short when she sees you flinch. </p><p> </p><p>“Y/N, hey,” she prompts. She raises both her hands, palms facing you. “I’m sorry; I should have asked first.” She nods down toward the soda can. “Would it be alright if I opened that Sprite for you?”</p><p> </p><p>Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. Slowly, you reach around your knees to slide the can forward a couple inches. Your eyes don’t leave Emily’s face. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, I’m gonna open it for you now,” she tells you. Her hands fall to the soda can, and she does just that. <em>Chk-chk!</em> Her nails are all ragged and torn, you note. One of them has dried blood around it. It looks painful. The soda hisses as she slides it back over to you. </p><p> </p><p>You don’t relax until she retreats back into her seat. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Miss Emily.” You take the soda can into your hands, down a little sip. It’s fizzy and strange and way too sweet. You like it. </p><p> </p><p>“No problem, hon.”</p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>	After endless tests, and doctors poking you, and a whole bunch of confusing questions, you’re finally left alone. Well, mostly. </p><p> </p><p>	It’s just you, a hospital bed, and a thin pale man who says his name is Spencer. He’s FBI, too, evidently. He doesn’t <em>look</em> like he’d be FBI, though the gun on his hip says otherwise. </p><p> </p><p>	He’s got big brown eyes, short brown hair, and he won’t stop fidgeting with his hands. He seems nervous. It’s making <em>you</em> nervous. </p><p> </p><p>	Eventually, you can’t take it any longer. “Mister Spencer?” you ask. </p><p> </p><p>	Immediately, his eyes shift to you. “Yes?”  He leans forward in his seat, rests his elbows on his knees. </p><p> </p><p>	“They said I have to have surgery.”</p><p> </p><p>	He nods. “You’ve had some broken bones that didn’t heal correctly,” he explains patiently. His voice is soft, so soft it’s almost a whisper. “Most of them won’t require surgery, but from what I understand, the one in your left forearm is still hurting.”</p><p> </p><p>	Instinctively, you cradle your bad arm to your chest. “It’s not so bad.”</p><p> </p><p>	“That may be true, but the doctors here can fix it. They’re very good at what they do. And once you heal from the surgery, it won’t ever hurt like that again.”</p><p> </p><p>	A song plays in your head—one of Sir’s favorite songs. He’d play it all the time. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world for free,” you murmur. </p><p> </p><p>	“Sorry?”</p><p> </p><p>	“Nothing in this world is free,” you say. “They can’t just take the pain away, Mister Spencer. Not unless the price is really, really high.” </p><p> </p><p>	“The price has been taken care of.”</p><p> </p><p>	“By who?” Owing someone is dangerous. You know that. </p><p> </p><p>	Spencer hesitates. “Well—”</p><p> </p><p>“By me.” A familiar voice makes you whirl your head around. You <em>really</em> don’t like surprises. </p><p> </p><p>Emily’s standing there in the doorway. She looks at you with an expression you can’t quite figure out. </p><p> </p><p>“Miss Emily, I—I can’t pay you back—”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to.” She pushes off of the doorframe, comes in and sits in an empty chair next to Spencer. “I just want you to get better, sweetie.”</p><p> </p><p>You eye her suspiciously up and down. “That’s all?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s all.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t believe you,” you whisper out eventually. </p><p> </p><p>You don’t expect her to hear you, much less answer, so it’s a surprise when she does. </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” she says. </p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>The next couple days are a blur. You get the surgery, though you don’t really remember it. All you know is you wake up with the room spinning and your bad arm feeling numb. There’s a bandage on it, and white gauze wrapped from your wrist all the way up to your elbow. </p><p> </p><p>The doctors smile and tell you that things went well, that you’re gonna be okay. Their smiles are too big and the room is too bright and you really don’t want to be there anymore. </p><p> </p><p>Someone carries you out of the hospital to a big, black car. They smell like cinnamon, and their shirt is really soft. Their long black hair tickles your nose. <em>Emily</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She stays with you in the backseat when the car starts to move.  </p><p> </p><p>	There’s a woman with golden hair driving the car. You think you might know her. <em>JJ</em>, a distant voice in your head supplies. </p><p> </p><p>	Things go black for a while after that.</p><p> </p><p>	When you wake up, it’s bleary. You’re warm and comfy, which strikes you as unusual. The bed you’re on feels like a cloud. It’s a million times softer and more cloud-like than Sir’s bed ever was. That’s unusual, too. </p><p> </p><p>	Turns out, it’s a guest room in an apartment that’s too fancy to be called an apartment. A “loft.” </p><p> </p><p>	There’s a black cat with green eyes that jumps up on the bed and starts nuzzling you as soon as you’re up. Its fur is really, <em>really</em> soft. You like the way it purrs when you scratch it behind the ears. </p><p> </p><p>	Turns out, the “it” is a “he.” His name is Sergio, and he belongs to Emily and JJ. </p><p> </p><p>	This is their loft, where they’ve offered to let you stay for the foreseeable future. </p><p> </p><p>	You have no idea what their angle is, and that terrifies you. But they’re warm and they smell nice and they let you order takeout from wherever you want for dinner. They’re gentle and they smile a lot and as far as you can tell, they don’t come into your room to touch you at night. </p><p> </p><p>	Still, there’s only one way to be sure. One day, you sneak a strip of Scotch tape from Emily’s desk before dinner. That same night, you stick it horizontally on the inside of the door—from the metal frame across to the wood of the door itself. </p><p> </p><p>	This way, it won’t come undone unless someone opens the door. And if they do, it’ll be impossible to stick the tape back exactly how it was unless you’re on the inside. You’re not sure where you learned that, ‘cause it definitely wasn’t from Sir, but you figure it doesn’t really matter either way. What matters is that it’s smart, and it works. </p><p> </p><p>	Three nights go by. The tape doesn’t move. </p><p> </p><p>	Three nights becomes a week. You keep sneaking bits of Scotch tape to replace the old ones when they start to lose their stick. </p><p> </p><p>	The tape still doesn’t move. </p><p> </p><p>	JJ and Emily are still as kind as ever. They still give you food, change your bandages, let you watch as much TV as you want. They don’t make you play grown-up games. They don’t yell at you. They don’t hit you, either. </p><p> </p><p>	It’s new, and confusing, and strange. </p><p> </p><p>	You think that maybe you could use a little of that. </p><p> </p><p>— —</p><p> </p><p>A geriatric, balding judge with bifocals and a lisp signs the adoption papers on a Tuesday afternoon. And just like that, Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau are finally declared the official legal guardians of Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. </p><p> </p><p>You’re sixteen, now, following a quiet but memorable birthday spent at home with your moms three weeks prior. </p><p> </p><p>Thanks to Uncle Spencer’s influence, you’re reading books like a fiend and doing weekly crossword puzzles with him on Sunday mornings. Social media remains something of a mystery to you, still. Hell, even Mama Emily’s better at it than you are. Auntie Penelope says it’s better that way ‘cause “the Internet is a beautiful but terrible place, my sweet sugarplum,” but at the very least, you think you should get a Facebook before you graduate.</p><p> </p><p>Plus, Uncle Kevin says he’ll teach you some hacker tricks on the sly so long as you don’t tell Auntie Pen. You’re really, <em>really</em> looking forward to that. </p><p> </p><p>Uncle Hotch goes on weekly runs with you around the park. You pretty much spend the whole time teasing him for being so old and having to stretch so much before the two of you can actually get going, but he still very nearly beats you every time. </p><p> </p><p>Uncle Rossi spoils you with gifts and home-made Italian recipes. Sometimes, he’ll come over just to cook you dinner. </p><p> </p><p>Uncle Morgan’s teaching you how to pick up girls. Ever since you told him about that cute girl Emiko in your Spanish class, he’s been drilling you with lessons on “how to woo a lady.” You groan and blush and act like it’s the worst thing that ever happened to you, but secretly, you don’t really mind it. At all. Sometimes, you even take his advice. (Though admittedly, that’s rather rare.)</p><p> </p><p>Luke, Matt, Tara, Alex and Stephen are all new, but your moms seem to trust them, and that’s good enough for you. Plus, Luke lets you play with his dog Roxy sometimes, so he’s already pretty cool in your book.</p><p> </p><p>Friday nights are special. They’re the nights you always, <em>always</em> spend at home with your moms. You play board games, watch movies, binge trashy Netflix shows. Currently, you’re 11 seasons into Grey’s Anatomy. </p><p> </p><p>Most of the time, you pass out snuggled between them on the couch. They shake you gently when it’s time to go to bed, and you trudge back to your room in a zombie-like trance. You don’t stick tape anywhere. You don’t even close the door. You just fall face-first into bed and drift off to sleep. </p><p> </p><p>In the mornings, you always wake up all tucked in with a smudge of JJ’s strawberry-scented lip gloss drying on your forehead. </p><p> </p><p>And… you’re happy. Happier than you’ve ever been. </p><p> </p><p>‘Course, you still get sad sometimes. You still think about Sir and miss him even when you know you shouldn’t. You still visit Sissy every year, lay pretty pink flowers at the foot of her grave. (Sissy always loved pink.) But, things are different—you’re not alone. Your moms are always, always, <em>always</em> at your side. </p><p> </p><p>You think Sissy would’ve liked them. <em>Loved</em> them, in fact. </p><p> </p><p>After all, you certainly do. </p><p> </p><p>— —</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the lyric "ain't nothin' in this world for free" is from a song called "ain't no rest for the wicked" by cage the elephant... i mcfreaking love that song</p><p>let me know what u think?</p><p>also i made a blog just for writing and shit involved with this account.. i'll probably be posting this there so if you wanna check that out it's @novoaa1writes <a href="https://novoaa1writes.tumblr.com/">link</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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